[ Featuring GRM Daily ]
Mm-mm
Listen
It's like murder f*cked up my name and money, listen
Last year's pack, made industry mutuals move bare funny
F*ck it, I might as well bill up a duppy
Point blank ting, got my shooters like Sully
I made four guys hop out the ding-dong
Bare grown men turn into Bugs Bunny
Them niggas run back in a hurry, yo
Bumper ting bruck off and give me some honey
Can't grip broad EastEnder chicks, the twins like Ronny and Roxie
Run from the bill for the light and the Bobbie
Slugs in the cat house, slam-em out properly
Don't care how you feel if you're on me
If there's no more waps, then bring out the dotties
We make man lay with the poppies
Yuck that paigon block can't defend our fouls
Even the SOs know 'bout the badness in jailhouse
We're all on obbo, but still slap a shell unannounced
Blaow, lean man pronounced, my shooter runs with a smile like Leão, listen
Let my dread head grip, moves like Camavinga from Real
The opps try and bang on me, look at me now
I know how to fling that kite back round
You can call us Filthy Fellas, cah true say the opps gotta agree by now
Our block still winnin' awards like Federer
There ain't no back and forth in it like Nadal
The opp boys bored, 'cause they move stupid on the net
Like Mizzy, it's all for the clout, it's all for the clout
Enough of the beef, let's talk about Butch bits
Stamp the beat if you're tryna be hood rich
If you're thirty, hop off the hood shit
Jump off the pitch if your name ain't Modrić
Any time gang have to step out parties, our gun man guards, listen
The man keep missin' their open chance
We're certified gunners like Ødegaard
The other mazeen made a man of Islam scream "Oh Lord"
It's bad luck if you see us poppin' them cars
The G9's like my chain, it's always on blast
Remind man who's in the past
My blocks like a iPhone fully on charge
Leveled up since the label lit my advance
Booked top floor in the Shangri-La
Now she wanna bust it open in the bath
The floor's marble, come and arch
If you hold the machine, we can go Libertine or tape and bra
The mandem pattern the guards, man put the scorpion in the dance
I know this thick brown ting wanna pop Perignon, should I give her a chance?
Grrt, we made it rain, who got the last laugh?
